Forgotten
by Patience Spencer
Summary: A boy has been admitted to Azkaban, but he doesn't intend to stay there. No one understands what this boy wants or what his goals are. But it is obvious that he will do anything to achieve them no matter the cost on the wizarding world.
1. Chapter 1

It was another long day. A bitter horrible, miserable, unbearable day. But that was how every day for Sirius. He didn't deserve this. He did nothing but trust the wrong person. But everyone did that. Maybe he did deserve Azkaban. He deserved every drop of misery that the dementors inflicted. They took all of his guilt and expanded it to unnatural portions. How could he? James, Lily. Dead because he thought wrong. Now he was here, they were dead and the traitor walked free.

A slight commotion distracted Sirius from his ever spiraling downward thoughts. There was someone speaking very loudly and cheerfully. Cheer? Sirius had to be mistaken. He shook his head. Cheer didn't exist in Azkaban. Then the voice came again and this time, it was unmistakably morbid cheeriness.

"Now don't be so rough. I'm just a kid. Many years to live you know? So handle with care is written all over me ok? I don't want to be damaged."

Two Ministry wizards appeared with a boy in between them. The boy was very usual as boys go. Brown hair, light brown eyes, fair skin, not yet at puberty. Fourteen. That was young. A fourteen year old in Azkaban. What did he do? The wizards tossed him in the cell across from Sirius.

"Ow! What did I just tell you about fragile?" The boy complained.

One of the wizards retorted, "A day in here and you won't be so worried about 'fragile.'"

The Ministry wizards walked away. The boy leaned up against a wall and seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

Then he cleared his throat and asked Sirius, "How has your day been?"

Sirius waited a moment trying to decide if this boy was totally insane. Surely the boy had to feel the dementors.

He finally replied, "Lousy. But that's not new. It's been lousy for. . ." Sirius paused trying to remember exactly how long it had been, then said lamely, "a long time."

The boy nodded several times, then he said, "Ten years. You've been in Azkaban a little short of ten years, Sirius Black."

"Oh, so you know who I am." Sirius said glumly, knowing that the boy wouldn't continue speaking with a legendary criminal. Instead, he was in for a surprise.

"Nope. I don't know you. I know your name and the actions attributed to you, but I don't know you. I don't know anyone. Because no one knows me. If no one knows who I am deep inside then how can I truly know someone else? Knowing someone is just an illusion."

Sirius blinked, his dark and depressed mind not quite following this logic. He was quiet for a moment trying to work it out, then the dementors' power pushed it down with the image of James's destroyed house, his house and the lives that were in it, lives that Sirius could have protected.

Finally, Sirius said, "I've never seen anyone in here who is so young. What's your name? And why were you sentenced to Azkaban?"

The boy smiled mischievously, "Oh, me? I'm Jeremiah, Jeremiah Raphael. I have a two month sentence. After all, I need to get my letter to go back to Hogwarts for my fifth year. Can't prevent a kid from getting his education."

"Raphael." Sirius rolled over the name on his tongue, trying to recall where he had heard that name, "A pure blood family?"

The boy pointed and jerked his hands like muggle guns, "Bingo, Black. But not surprising since you're from a pure blood family yourself. Although, I don't think I'm closely related to you."

Sirius frowned. Where did that boy find so much enthusiasm and cheerfulness?

Sirius asked, "Why would the Ministry send a pure blood kid to Azkaban?"

"Why'd they send you to Azkaban for life without a trial?"

That hurt. Before Black could tell Jeremiah the truth or at least an excuse, the boy was already talking.

"Who knows? Nobody. They want to punish us for something they consider wrong. Why such a dreary place like Azkaban or why that amount of time or better yet why they consider our actions wrong are all good questions that have morally complex answers that only mean something to the people would made those decisions."

This explanation left Sirius with a large headache and no answer. But once again the boy was talking before Sirius could ask for clarification.

"Specifically, the action that the Ministry did not like me performing is certain magic they considered to be 'not good for any age let alone for someone as young as myself.' They would have simply sent me to a correctional facility if I hadn't blatantly insulted and disrespected everyone at my trial. I seem to have issues with authority."

Then the boy was quiet for a long moment. Sirius found a scrap of gratitude in his soul for this act. The silence allowed his brain to catch up. The boy had been performing 'not good' magic. Did that mean Dark Magic? Sirius wasn't sure. What drove him up the wall was the fact that this boy didn't seem to notice the dementors' presence whatsoever. In fact, the boy seemed to take his imprisonment as a total joke.

"So, in your opinion, what act did you do that the Ministry took offense to?" Jeremiah asked.

Sirius replied, "Nothing, I'm innocent."

"Really?"

Sirius couldn't tell if the boy was being sarcastic or was really fascinated. He couldn't read this boy's thoughts or emotions at all. But he continued as if this Jeremiah actually cared. He wanted the story out there. It didn't matter that it wouldn't change a detail. Wouldn't change his sentence. But someone else would know. One other person in the world would believe his innocence that burned like a furnace in his own soul.

"You've probably heard that I was Voldemort's closest follower. His most loyal and that I betrayed my friends to him and when Pettigrew tried to get justice I blasted him and twelve muggles to death. But it's not true. I didn't betray James and Lily. I loved them. He was my best friend . . . We trusted Pettigrew. That was our mistake. He betrayed us. He turned James and Lily over to Voldemort. I went after him. Once I cornered the coward, he blasted himself and everything to bits. I can't believe he committed suicide. I thought he didn't have the nerve. But then again, I didn't think he would betray us."

Sirius shook his hands to return feeling to them. He had been clenching them so hard they had gone numb. He had to fight to say every word calmly and sensibly. But he had gotten through and now the dementors' misery was in his soul.

The boy stared at him nodding for a while seeming to consider this confession.

"Like I said, does anyone really know who another person is?" Jeremiah said smugly. "You thought Pettigrew was one thing when he was really a different thing. No one truly knows another person."

Sirius stared at the boy. Just a boy, but so calm, so unlike some adults who came in sobbing. They could feel the horror of this place, and dread would fill then as they knew how long they would stay. But this boy. So abnormally relaxed as if he were in a resort or at home.

"Do you have something messed up in your head or do you even sense the dementors?" Sirius asked.

Jeremiah grinned wider than Sirius thought possible. The smile made the boy appear demented, unrealistic.

"Oh, I just come prepared is all."

No matter how many times Sirius asked, no matter how many different ways he asked and no matter who he asked, he never learned anything more about the boy named Jeremiah. In one week, the boy was moved to a different part of the prison. The few wizarding guards that acted as overseers must have believed it not wise to leave to rather sane individuals together. In all honesty, Sirius never saw Jeremiah again although he heard his name over a year later in response to a question he asked. And for years after that, Sirius would repeat Jeremiah's name over and over again, and would forever wonder: why?

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That's the first chapter, I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Bellatrix said to herself over and over, "The Dark Lord will rise again, he will come and you will be the most praised of his servants. The Dark Lord will rise again, he will come and you will be the most praised of his servants."

Repeating the phrase helped her remember. Helped her remember what was important. Pure bloods were pure and all else were filth. How could they, scum, trash, mud be sentient? They would melt and wither away under these conditions. But not her, not a pure blood. She would wait and be proven faithful of all the Death Eaters. None but those in Azkaban could best her in her loyalty.

So absorbed in her mutterings she failed to notice when wizarding overseers deposited a boy in her cell and left. It wouldn't matter to her. But something pleasant came to her at that time. Her thoughts were heightened in a memory of joy when filthy muggles ran from the spells flying off of her wand and their impure blood stained the streets. Staining because that blood was worthless trash.

"Does saying that over and over make it more true?"

The voice, so earnest and surprisingly loud, drew her caged mind to the surface. Bellatrix ceased speaking and raised her head slowly to look at a boy in her cell. He had propped himself up on the opposite wall and was staring at her. She replayed her memory several times before remembering that he had been brought in her cell. Despite that slow reasoning, Bellatrix was unable to form any coherent response to the boy's inquiry. She couldn't have even said what the boy had asked.

She said what she had been saying for what felt like a lifetime. "The Dark Lord will rise again, he will come and you will be the most praised of his servants."

The boy said with a light laugh, "Wow. You are really far gone."

Bellatrix didn't know, neither did she care what the boy said. Instead she repeated, "The Dark Lord will-"

"Yeah, rise again." the boy interjected. "He will come and you will be most praised of all of his servants. Yeah, I heard you and you sound like a broken record. Rule one when entering Azkaban, don't go crazy. But from the stories I have heard, you were crazy before, so I guess you can't lose what you never had."

Bellatrix didn't hear most of his words. Her fractured mind only heard her own words repeat back to her. 'You will be most praised of all of his servants.' Her heart started to thud with glee. The voice wasn't her only. Someone else said it to her. So it had to be true. She WILL be the most praised. Every bit of this misery and dread was worth it. Every scrap she felt. She would be rid of it when her master returned.

She began to laugh. Long, hard in a bitter and joyful cackle.

"Now I've pushed her off the deep end." The boy's words reached her ears but made no progress beyond that point.

Rather quickly, her mirth and delight was taken from her by a passing dementor and Bellatrix fell silent.

The boy sighed then said, "Rule two: come prepared."

He opened a portion of his robes and summoned out a growing silver snake that slithered through the still air. Bellatrix eyes widened at the soft beautiful glow. The snake's tongue flicked out. Her eyes widened examining it like it was going to do a fantastic trick. The boy shifted his hand and the snake wrapped slowly on her, slowly expunging the despair from her. Bellatrix's hand played slowly against the body of the patronus. She was reminded on how much her master adored snakes.

After several minutes, she became interested in the world outside her own head. Bellatrix's eyes met the boy across the cell from her.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my cell?" She demanded.

"She's speaking sensibly. Success!" The boy cheered.

Bellatrix blinked, wondering what was so great about this, but shook it off. "Who Are YOU!" She screamed.

The boy waved his hand as if to say relax, "Once I get her talking, she turns to screaming. Look, there's no need to flip. I'm Jeremiah Raphael."

"Raphael, a pure blood?" she asked delightfully.

"Yeah, I'm from a pure blood family. Apparently the Blacks are one too. But pure blood doesn't describe who we are. No single attribute can. We are pieced together by billion pieces, and a pure blood family would be one. There are dozens more that we can't sometimes identify ourselves. Each piece forms a giant puzzle makes up our entire being."

The boy was babbling nonsense. The only bit of information she cared about was that he was pure blood. That was all. It meant he was superior to the filth of the mixed breeds.

"As for why I am in your cell," Jeremiah continued, "It is because the overseers had made some decision that moved me from my cell to your cell. I don't know why they decided this but if I had to guess at motive it would be because I seemed to be having too much fun in my other cell."

Bellatrix didn't believe there was a real answer in that tangle of words so she didn't reply directly to it. She instead brought up the subject of the silver snake which rested in her lap.

"How are you doing this?"

Jeremiah smiled, "Oh I am just using a very happy thought to create a semi physical magical enchantment that repels dementors and their happy sucking power."

"I know it is a patronus!" Bellatrix snapped, "I want to know how you created it without a wand!"

The boy laughed. It was a strange laugh that caused Bellatrix to stare. The laugh was something like a bitter chuckle that resounded from somewhere deep inside the boy's soul. Like an irony that was only understood by him.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. I thought you knew your pure blood genealogy. The Raphael family is descendents of Morgan le Fay. She left dozens of abilities in her children's blood and bodies. With each generation, the power has grown. I am the climax of that power. I am powerful enough to use many spells without the aid of a wand."

"'Many spells without a wand?' You are indeed powerful to do that, especially at your age." Bellatrix praised in a purr, pleased in the power that still raced through the pure blood veins.

Jeremiah leaned in and asked with a small smirk on his face. "Out of curiosity, do you really believe the Dark Lord will return?"

Bellatrix screamed, "You doubt it?! Of course he will return! How dare you will think otherwise!"

She rose fully intent on strangling the boy for his impudence and doubt when the patronus flickered and despair flowed into her. She froze, the pleasure that would be hers at the boy's death slipping from her. Jeremiah turned his eyes lazily towards it. No expression but boredom appeared on his face as the silver snake solidified.

"You need to control your temper." The boy commented. "Very few would be willing to help an animal that is only going to hurt them."

Bellatrix scowled but was currently too fond of the absence of despair and hopelessness that she was not going to contradict Jeremiah.

"So the Dark Lord will return." Jeremiah said in a musing way, and then added almost jokingly, "Don't kill me for pointing this out, but how exactly will he rise again to power?"

"He will rein fire on all who oppose him and make all fear him. He will be and icon of-"

"Okay, okay stop." the impotent boy interrupted, "Miscommunication. I didn't mean in what manner. Fire, destruction, and epic running and screaming were expected for the Dark Lord's triumphant return from death and oblivion." The boy paused. Then he continued more slowly, "I want to know what steps will be taken for the Dark Lord to get his power back."

Bellatrix glowed in the praise that Jeremiah lavished on her Lord. He did believe that the Dark Lord had power. So consumed in the bit of praise she had forgotten she had been rudely interrupted.

She said in a delighted whisper, "He will rise with his own power, he is strong enough to do that."

"So where is all the devastation and trembling in fear? Where is the Dark Lord?" He said the first phrase goofily and playfully but the second was deliberate, serious and strangely like a threat.

"He will come." Bellatrix defended, "He will. He will!"

"It's been ten years. Whatever happened at Godric's Hollow stripped the Dark Lord of his power. He probably needs some help."

Bellatrix said calmly but added an undertone of warning. "The Dark Lord has other servants who will help him if he does indeed need help."

"Aren't his most loyal ones here?" He asked.

Bellatrix gasped realizing it was true. The ones who had tried to find the Dark Lord were showing their loyalty in Azkaban. All the others were cowards and more or likely had forgotten their lord and master and were leading plump cushy lives while the valiant ones were imprisoned unable to reach the master they adored.

Bellatrix couldn't believe her folly. Now she knew why Barty Crouch Jr. appeared to back out at the trial. To still search for the Dark Lord. She sat back against the cell wall. Not even the patronus could pull her from her own depths of despair. Her Lord, out there waiting for one of his followers. Alone, powerless. How could she be as stupid as to go to Azkaban when her Lord needed her?

"Pity, the use of the Cruciatis Curse is unforgivable when used on a human. One way ticket to this dump." The boy commented whimsically. Mockingly even.

She screamed, "You boy! You have come here to mock me in my weakness! To be a nuisance! A pest! I will-"

She rose taking several steps towards him when his hand jerked up and a harsh force thrust her back into her corner. His face had lost its smirk it had worn during his taunt, it was now blank with a slight frown.

Then Jeremiah smiled, not a smirk but an honest fond sort of smile. "Bella, Bella, Bellatrix Lestrange. I didn't get myself two months in Azkaban to amuse myself by torturing a broken woman, no matter how fun it is to see your passing emotions."

Jeremiah said very slowly in an earnest manner, "Bellatrix, I want to see the Dark Lord rise to power and his loyal servants gathered beneath."

"How can I trust you?" Bellatrix asked.

"You don't. How can you trust someone you don't know? You don't know if I'll turn traitor, or if I'll leave and do nothing or if I'm just playing with your mind. You'll never know for certain. You can never know what I will do. The only thing you can do is have faith that I will do what I will promise to do."

"Then swear to me," Bellatrix finally, "On your pure blood family that-"

"All dead."

"On your ancestry-"

"They're dead so what do they account for?"

"On your wand-"

"I can use some magic without a wand."

"Then on your power-"

"Power? What is power than the ability to get others to do what you want? And since you never know if people will do what you want then what is power?"

Bellatrix was running out of plausible things that might hold the boy's word. His contradictions and reasoning against everything she held dear was creating a massive headache and made her feel weak and tired.

"Then swear to me on your philosophy that you will help the Dark Lord rise."

The boy smiled hauntingly with a strange inhuman delight dancing in his eyes, "I swear. Now tell me where to start."

Bellatrix stared at Jeremiah still trying to decide and actually convincing herself to trust the boy. She would be leaving her master in the care of someone she didn't know.

"Tell him that I am his most loyal."

"Just tell me where I can find him."

"Albania, the forests of Albania."

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Here's the second chapter. I hope you like it!


	3. Chapter 3

He slid along tree branches. He was alone, all alone. As alone as he ever had been. He was beginning to doubt all of his followers' loyalty. At one point, he would have sworn every one of them would die for him. Now after ten years he, Lord Voldemort, doubted and despaired.

Movement on the ground caught his attention. Shifting around so his serpent eyes could see, Voldemort noticed that there was a young boy. Deep in the Albanian forest, a child here? That was improbable. A boy wouldn't wander this deep for no reason.

"A boy wandering so deep," hissed Voldemort through the snake's mouth, "Doesn't he know it is dangerous here?"

It was suppose to be rhetorical. He was possessing a snake. Anything he said would be parseltongue, Voldemort was merely amusing himself though speech. But to his surprise the boy looked straight at him. Moreover, the boy's light brown eyes contained no fear. No curiosity, or wonderment or anything. Just a dispassionate stare.

"Yes, I am aware. But I am prepared." The boy replied in perfect and beautiful parseltongue.

Voldemort rose half way from his branch and hissed, "You speak it?"

"What else am I speaking? Troll?" The boy said tartly, "And considering you are surprised a person can speak it, I assume you were human. Or humanish. Lord Voldemort, correct?"

Voldemort swayed back and forth in his serpent body, longing for his return to be on the horizon. "Yes, I am Lord Voldemort."

The boy yawned. The boy had the impudence to yawn. "Guess I can call it a day. Oh, I'm Jeremiah, Jeremiah Raphael. I'm here to take you back to some sort of power, especially considering your state."

Voldemort hissed bitterly at the boy's disrespect and insult at his weakness.

"Now there, don't get your tail in a twist. I'm going to help you. I won't give you my body - I'm much too fond of it - but I'll make sure you'll get people to remember why they call you 'He-who-must-not-be-named.'"

Voldemort considered Jeremiah. The boy seemed so casual, even bored about this whole affair. But it was his first chance at power and he desperately wanted to be out of this pitiful existence.

"How did you find me?" Voldemort finally asked.

"Find you? Not hard really. Just follow the most magical thing in here. Magic is my thing you see. I have more gifts in magic then most wizards believe exist." Then Jeremiah paused, reconsidering, "Oh, you want to know how I knew to search for you in Albania. Well, you can thank your most loyal Death Eater for that. Bellatrix gave me a tip off after I talked to her in Azkaban while I served a sentence there, in the cell where she was serving her life sentence matter of fact. Oh, she wanted you to know that she is your most loyal Death Eater if I didn't already mention that."

Voldemort hissed, but this one was contentment. Some of his followers still were loyal. That pleased him a great deal. "So you are here to see true power?"

The boy shrugged, "Nope, power is overrated; I just want to see people running and screaming. A little bit of chaos is fun."

Voldemort thought this was a poor excuse to come and aid him, but Voldemort didn't have too many options right now. This was the first chance in ten years. He had to take it.

"Swear that you will do as you promised."

Jeremiah held out his arm, "Yeah, yeah, I swear, you'll get back to full power. Come on great Dark Lord, we have to get going. I, personally, have a train to catch, and that is a train you are going to be want to be on."

Voldemort slipped down from the tree branch coiling around the boy's arm. "Wouldn't the Ministry know that you are using magic?" Voldemort asked.

"Nope, because I am not using the standard breed of magic. I am able to use a combination of various magic, gifts from all the different magical creatures out there. Blame my great, great, however many greats grandmother Morgan le Fay for me being able to do magic far beyond my age and skill."

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Here's the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

This is a shorter chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

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"Where are you slinking off to?" The boy asked, half asleep.

Voldemort twisted his head around to glare at Jeremiah. Only the boy's head and a small bit of his forearm were visible from under a mass of sheets.

"You're going after Potter aren't you?" Jeremiah continued. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Sure you've been waiting for ten years and you want to get back at the little brat who took all your power and forced you to be stuck in a magically deprived snake's boy. I wouldn't blame you, even I would want revenge for an insult like that, a mouse shouldn't teach a snake how to strike. But listen to me Dark Lord, wait."

Voldemort hissed an equivalent of a sigh. He knew that the boy was about to give some complex point that would actually be plausible. Sometimes he swore that Jeremiah came up with complicated explanation just to have his own way. That or to annoy everyone Jeremiah came across. The boy seemed to enjoy tormenting people as much as he did.

"The reason you shouldn't is Dumbledore. He's already talked to me about my imprisonment in Azkaban over the summer, and he is still keeping an eye on me. If we move to get Harry's blood now, we won't be able to get out of Hogwarts. Just wait for right before Christmas. We'll leave no problem then. If ten years didn't kill you, a few months won't do the job."

As always, the boy was right. No need to worry Dumbledore before Voldemort was ready. After he had gathered all of his forces, then they would take on Dumbledore and world.

Voldemort slithered back to Jeremiah's bed. "Why Hufflepuff?" He hissed with scorn.

Jeremiah asked, "For my house? It's easy. In Griffindor I would have to be heroic and race around and save everyone. I'm too smart for Ravenclaw, I don't want to make people jealous. That will be too much trouble. Now Slytherin. Everyone expects the traitors and evil people to be in Slytherin. It is twice as hard to obtain trust and respect. Whereas in Hufflepuff everyone trusts everyone so when the betrayal comes no one expects it lots of hurt expressions and plenty of tears and denial. And besides the beds in Hufflepuff are the most comfy."

"How would you come by that information?"

The boy shrugged, "I have my ways. But yeah, it was the comfy beds that sold me. Nice, big, fluffy, with plenty of sheets and blankets."

"Beds were your defining choice in choosing a Hogwarts house?"

"A guy has to sleep. Might as well sleep like a king instead of a pauper."


	5. Chapter 5

The defining moment. Voldemort cursed Jeremiah's slow rhythmic steps. He knew why the boy walked so slowly but it didn't improve his mood. Jeremiah stepped over to the boy. The small helpless, sleeping boy. He was different from ten years ago though he did look dreadfully like his miserable father. Most identifying about the boy was a lightning scar on his forehead.

"Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort.

"Hush." Jeremiah warned as Harry shifted in his sleep.

Jeremiah pulled out a needle and syringe. Voldemort wondered how a pureblood boy would know about a muggle item like that. The boy slid the needle into Harry's arm. Slowly, blood filled the vial. Harry began to stir. Jeremiah waved his hand across Harry's face and Harry stilled. Voldemort then saw a tremor pass Jeremiah's face. Frowning, Jeremiah kept his hand over Harry's face for a moment longer.

"Something wrong?" Voldemort asked.

"No, just something interesting."

Jeremiah pulled the needle from Harry's arm and stepped slowly away. It was a pity that he couldn't be killed now. Jeremiah had lectured about how his death would cause Dumbledore's attention to turn to find the cause. Voldemort would have to wait. Curse waiting. And curse Jeremiah, he was so necessary and so right all the time. Voldemort could swear that Jeremiah had thought this out in all the measly fifteen years of his life.

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Another short chapter that I hope you will enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

"This is certainly a dreadful place to be risen to power." Jeremiah commented.

Voldemort ignored the boy. This was a joyous moment. Soon he will be in human form with magic and out of this serpentine body that made him sleepy in the bitter cold.

"A graveyard." Jeremiah continued, "A snowy graveyard. Oh and what's this?" Jeremiah wiped snow off of an inscription, "Tom Riddle. Is this your father's grave site? How dreary."

"Get started."

"Oh yes, mighty Dark Lord."

With a wave of Jeremiah's hand, a cauldron appeared and a blazing fire erupted beneath it. Voldemort hoped that many of the boy's talents would be passed to his new body.

"And down you go, don't mind the boiling water, you won't feel a thing." Jeremiah said as he lowered Voldemort into the cauldron.

Voldemort felt the liquid around him as the heat destroyed the snake form and he changed slowly to spirit.

"Let's get this started. Now I believe, bone of the father unknowingly taken you will renew your son."

Voldemort felt the first ingredient added. The only thing he despised was the dry, bored tone Jeremiah was using. It sounded as if he were reading a boring textbook aloud to an uninterested class. Show some feeling, dumb boy, this was a great moment.

"Flesh of the servant, willing sacrificed, you will revive your master. Oh, this is going to hurt isn't it? This is going to hurt so bad."

Voldemort heard flesh parted by a knife. The body yowled very exaggeratedly, "OW! That hurt! That so hurt! So not worth it, never again, not happening! Oh cruel-"

Voldemort hissed violently.

"Get a grip! I am in agony. You'll be happy and jolly in a minute." The boy bitterly rebuked. A moment passed then he said sullenly, "Blood of the enemy willingly sacrificed, you will resurrect your foe."

Voldemort felt the last ingredient enter the cauldron and pain filled him. A fiery burning pain but more. He felt a body. A strong body, firm, vibrant, stronger than he imagined possible. Voldemort rose from the cauldron.

In a voice of his own he said, "at last. I am whole."

"Yeah, whole made of holes." Jeremiah callously replied.

Before Voldemort could reprimand the boy for his rudeness, a soft bundle hit him the chest.

"There. A robe, don't you ask me to put it on, oh, and while I still feel helpful, here's your wand."

Voldemort caught the wand from the air. Briskly, he slid the robe on and then more slowly examined his hands and body. He turned his wand over in his hands. The grip was as he remembered it. Good, firm, brimming with power.

He turned to the boy. He had to pay back the hand he took. Voldemort stepped towards Jeremiah.

"You have been useful to-"

"Stay away from me."

Voldemort froze. There was venom in the boy's voice. It was the first command that he had heard given by Jeremiah. He peered closely at the boy who had curled into a ball against one of the tombstones.

"I can relieve the pain from that hand of yours."

Jeremiah glared, "Death take us both before I let anyone mess with my body."

"Now Jeremiah, I don't want to see such pureblood spill to the ground when I can do something about it."

Voldemort reached forward and snatched the left forearm where blood stained the sleeve. As he examined it, he was surprised to see skin growing across muscle and bone. Voldemort looked between the hand and it's owner. Both of Jeremiah's hands were whole and undamaged.

Jeremiah tugged his arm away, "Happy? And before you ask, I'm talented. Morgan's magic is potent. Now what are you going to do now, o' great risen Lord?"

Voldemort replied, "I don't like you using that tone."

"You should consider it an honor. I only use that tone for people in authority. If I didn't think you had authority over me then I would leave, but since you do, I will be sarcastic and mocking. Get used to it. But currently I'm going to bed, and no, you can't go to my place. Find one of your loyal followers, though I wouldn't suggest Snape."

"Why would that be?"

"Ten years taking orders under Dumbledore's orders might have changed his loyalty. I'd start with Malfoy's. Big manor, pureblood family, high standing in Ministry all that."

Voldemort nodded, the boy made sense as usual, "You make a valid argument."

"I'll see you there tomorrow, bright and early at dawn. I'll get your Death Eaters out of Azkaban if you want, they haven't protected that place against house elf apparition yet. Not now but tomorrow, yes, I'll do it tomorrow."

"Very well. I will visit my servants and see if they are waiting to welcome their Lord. Bring my loyal Death Eaters out of Azkaban there tomorrow."

The boy yawned and staggered to his feet. Then a thought crossed Voldemort's mind.

"Why exactly were you sentenced to Azkaban?"

Jeremiah looked directly at Voldemort, "Distrust? Very well, I went to Azkaban to get information on where to find you. Specifically, I tried to create a basilisk. It sounded fun, giant scary serpent terrorizing populist."

Slowly, Voldemort asked, "And why would you want to raise me to power? What do you have to gain?"

"Oh, to prove someone wrong." Then the boy paused and laughed, "Not really, though you have a good point. You shouldn't trust me. I could turn on you at any point. But if you really want to know, I enjoy seeing chaos and havoc. People running around, screaming . . . most amusing. To control how people react. . ." the boy obtained a faraway look with a slight smile. He seemed so content.

Voldemort frowned. Jeremiah reminded him of himself when he was a child. He would need to make sure that the boy wouldn't try to usurp him.

"Very well," Voldemort said, "tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

"The Dark Lord will rise again, he will come and you will be the most praised of his servants. The Dark Lord will rise again, he will come and you will be the most praised of his servants." The same words repeated again and again.

Bellatrix clung to the bars saying her phrase over and over. Then she felt it unbridled joy. She looked at the floor and saw massive silver snakes slithering past her cell. The snakes glowed with a soft strange light and slithered forward with an unseen ambition. The nearby Dementors fled. One snake stopped at her cell it raised its head. Its tongue flicked out. Bellatrix stared at the snake knowing in her body what it meant.

Footsteps echoed and then a boy stood before her. She gazed up at the small teen. He grinned broadly down at her.

"Hey, guess what, Bella?" Jeremiah said, "I've got good news, the Dark Lord has risen and he sent me to bust you out."

* * *

Sorry that this one is so short, that's how the chapter wanted to be written.

I'll update soon to make up for it.


	8. Chapter 8

Here's the new chapter, out soon like I promised.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was overloaded. In the space of a few short hours, his comfy, safe, productive life was shattered by an arrival. Never did he believe that the Dark Lord, no he corrected himself bitterly, my Dark Lord would return. Lucius had to be far more careful if he thought it, it might slip off his tongue, he could not allow a slip up for his family's sake.

Then to add to the distress, a boy, whose name was Raphael, apparently a favorite of the Dark Lord, brought to his doorstep a dozen Death Eaters who were previously locked up in Azkaban. The Dark Lord was visibly pleased and even more so when this boy declared that he thought he could seize the stolen wands of the Death Eaters from wherever the Ministry had stashed them. That was how the boy left them, Lucius and his wife struggling to bring sanity, get food and arrange bedding arrangements for the rescued Death Eaters. Luckily Draco had stayed at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays or this would be much worse.

Lucius glanced at his wife during all this business. She did not seem entirely happy with seeing her sister Bellatrix. She did seem as stressed and panicky as he was.

Lucius finally finished and collapsed in exhaustion on the couch. He closed his eyes, half praying that when he opened them, nothing would be wrong.

Crack!

Lucius jerked and yelled, "Dobby you incompetent stupid-"

He stopped as he realized that Dobby wasn't in the room. Raphael on the other hand was. And he was bleeding. Badly. Lucius rose and drew his wand.

"Raphael, what-"

"Get away from me!" The boy snapped slamming a fistful of wands on the in table. The other arm curled around the boy's chest which was soaked in blood. He staggered a single step.

"You're bleeding all over, what happened?" Lucius said.

"Took on more than I could handle." Raphael staggered a step and crimson drops fell onto the carpet.

"Let me heal that before you make a mess," Lucius demanded.

Fierce, crazed eyes met his. They were the eyes of an animal about to plunge fangs into its adversary. Lucius backed up a step.

Raphael turned away and staggered a step. He stumbled and dropped to hands and knees.

"Merlin's stupid whatever," the boy muttered.

Lucius winced as he saw droplets of blood drip onto the fine carpet.

"I can't . . . too tired, can't apparate," Raphael said weakly.

"Let me get someone who can heal you." Lucius offered.

"Only if you want a dead body." The boy rose unsteadily and fell clumsily into an armchair. "I give you a hint. It won't be my body that is lifeless on the floor."

Lucius watched as Raphael curled up in that armchair like a snug cat or a coiled viper.

Raphael said softly, "If you value your family, then nobody should disturb me."

Lucius felt ice in his body. The boy meant that threat. And somehow it had more power than any of the threats that his Dark Lord had issued.


	9. Chapter 9

Bellatrix stared, gleefully, at the muggle transport. Inside of that was their worst enemy, a small eleven year old boy. Harry Potter, a boy who would not be allowed to live any longer. She glanced back at her Lord.

He nodded and said in his beautiful cold voice, "Now Bellatrix."

She grinned and raised her wand. The muggle transport cart-wheeled and tumbled right off the road.

"Remember," Her Lord said to the group of Death Eaters, "That boy is mine, kill all of those filthy muggles."

Bellatrix lead the way in tearing the thing apart to get at the muggles. She was disappointed when Lucius, Dolohoff and Nott killed the two adult muggles and the fat kid before she had the chance.

Then she turned to her Dark Lord who had his wand pointed at Potter. The boy looked suitably scared but trying to hide behind a brave face.

"Harry Potter," Her Lord said, "I doubt you would remember me. It was so long ago since we met."

"Voldemort."

Bellatrix hissed, "How dare you! Your filthy lips are not worthy to speak his name!"

"Calm, Bellatrix. I don't want to cause so much of a fuss. And sadly we can't enjoy this because of the Trace on the boy. The Ministry will be here too soon."

He smiled slowly at Potter. "I'm afraid that is all I have time to tell you, good-bye Harry Potter. Avada Kedavra."

The green light shot and hit the Potter boy in the chest. The boy fell to the ground right where the insolent boy belonged. But Potter wasn't the only one who fell.

Bellatrix screamed, "My Lord!"

She rushed to him and dropped to her knees. "My Lord, my Lord."

He wasn't moving. No! This couldn't happen! Not in their moment of triumph. How could - was that a twitch? Then she heard his soft moan. Bellatrix gasped with glee as her Dark Lord opened his eyes glancing around. He brushed her off and stood.

"Someone check to make sure he's dead."

No one moved. Bellatrix couldn't believe he had asked that. It was the Killing curse, of course the boy was dead.

"Someone check him!" Her Lord yelled.

"Oh, pick me! Pick me, I wanna do it!"

Bellatrix looked around and saw Jeremiah leaping up and down with his hand in the air. She blinked. Up to that moment, she had forgotten that the boy had come. And what shocked her even more was the boy's enthusiasm to examine a corpse.

"Go." Her Lord said.

Jeremiah walked over to the still Potter. He knelt down. Bellatrix tried to see beyond the boy to the dead Potter, but Jeremiah had positioned himself too well. She did see Jeremiah lifted Potter's arm and drop it as well as place his head on Potter's chest.

Jeremiah leaped to his feet. He nodded and nodded before declaring, "He's alive if he can survive without a heartbeat. For those of you don't manage complex negation sentences: The boy who lived doesn't live anymore."

A whop and a cheer spread throughout the Death Eaters.

Her Lord said, "Pick him up, we shall-"

"What? Show off his corpse like a trophy like a bunch of self conscious nitwits who have to prove their victories. We'll look like a bunch of hopeless helpless sissies."

Bellatrix turned her wand on Jeremiah, "How could you insult the Dark Lord with your disobedience?! I will-"

"Wait, Bellatrix," Her Lord said, "I want to hear this." To Jeremiah, he said, "Continue. What do you propose?"

The boy shrugged, "Leave him. The populous would be angry, frustrated and rally against us if we took their hero. But in we leave him in the gutter, in the street. It would break them. It gives Potter no special treatment, just a death in the dirty gutter next to a bunch of muggles. Just the sort of resting place that only filth, the poor and the weak choose to lie down and die."

A silence followed Jeremiah's speech. Then her Lord nodded. "We leave him like a commoner in the street. Come we return to the manor."

Her Lord disapperaed, Bellatrix was about to follow but then she saw a strange smirk on Jeremiah's face. But that vanished along with his smile when he disapperated.


	10. Chapter 10

Lucius was checking all the enchantments and locks on the doors before he went to bed that evening, when he found Raphael beginning to slip out of one of them. At least he had convinced the boy to actually use the doors instead of apparating directly in or out of the manor.

"Where are you going?" Lucius demanded.

Raphael paused and turned to him. Without much expression, the boy said, "Darn, I've been caught. Oh well, it's not like it matters."

Lucius slammed the door shut. "Where are you going?"

"Where? Please Lucius, I've been coming and going from your house for months now. What makes you think I'll change my habits in a single moment? Because you asked? I don't think so."

"This is my property. I have the right to know who is or is not on it." Lucius reasoned.

"So I tell you I'm leaving your property then it won't matter where I go from there, because the world is not your property, not yet anyhow."

Lucius steamed silently. Why couldn't he remember that this boy was as good as the Dark Lord with manipulating people and seemed better at logical reasoning?

"But," Raphael sighed, "I guess that's expected from a man who can't control his fate, he tries to control everything else. In this case, demanding to know where I'm going."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you are between a rock and hard place, to use a muggle saying. You've spent the last ten years struggling to build a safe place for you and your wife and son. But now that Voldemort - oh don't flinch, it's the name of the leader of your new regime - is back, your son and wife are in an extreme amount of danger. You hate having the Dark Lord back. I know you're going to try denying it. Go ahead, I don't blame you, Voldemort - and there you flinch again - doesn't take lightly to anything but absolute devotion."

Lucius glared at the boy, aggravated that a child could see through him so easily.

"There is that boiling anger." Jeremiah said, "It's just been hiding behind a veil of fear. Back to where I am going. It's none of anyone's business. Just because I resurrected the Dark Lord with my own flesh, doesn't give you enough reason to trust me. You don't know why I did it, what my past is, what my nature is or anything about me. Point is, don't trust me. I do what I want. Nothing more or less. And since I do not want to tell you where I am going, I won't tell you."

Then with a wild smile that created strange dancing light in his eyes, Raphael said, "And if you persist, I will love to see how our precious Voldemort deals with servants who are less than loyal."

Lucius stepped away from the boy. There wasn't much else he could do. Raphael nodded then opened the door walking out and shutting it behind him leaving Lucius feeling as helpless and hopeless as dead leaf being tossed around in an autumn breeze.


	11. Chapter 11

He felt scratchy grass under his body. Some voice in his head told him that he had fallen onto cement. Harry Potter opened his eyes. It took a moment before the image above him focused. There was a boy, older than him by a few years, perched in a tree above him. Harry sat up, still looking at him. Harry remembered him, he was in that group of men who had attacked him.

The boy, who lounged in the branches said, "You're up. That took longer than I thought, oh well."

Harry sprung to his feet, staggering, because he had been still for a long time. "Who are you? What happened?"

The boy shook his head, "Not important. Was is important is that you are safe and free to live a somewhat normal life."

Harry touched his chest, "Di-did you save me?"

"I ensured that you would be safe and you would live. I didn't do any spell to prevent your well, death, your mother ensured that. But don't worry too much about it, ask Dumbledore about it when you're older. I don't have much time to explain. Now. . ."

The boy leaped from the tree and landed next to Harry. One hand was in his pocket but the other pointed at a strange, oddly angled house. "See that house over there? Go to the door and knock. You'll be safe there. I'll be right here until the door opens. Go on, everything is going to be alright."

Harry began walking he didn't know why he was blindly obeying. Perhaps because his mind was still in shock and obeying the only thing that made sense.

As he arrived on the doorstep and raised his hand to knock, he thought he heard the boy behind him to say, "Good luck, Harry. Live a good life."

Harry knocked. Dozens of sounds erupted from behind the door. Shouts and running footsteps. Then the door flew open.

"Harry!"

Red assaulted his eyes then he recognized his best friend and his friend's older twin brothers.

"Ron."


	12. Chapter 12

Voldemort admired his ring of followers. They were in the attitude of glee. Their entertainment, a dozen or so muggles picked up from a nearby town. Voldemort breathed in the warm summer night air. Success. His power was back and he was just as strong had he had ever been. The world was at his fingers thanks to a boy. Soon he would eliminate Dumbledore and the Ministry and there would be nothing to stop him.

It was hard to believe Jeremiah had to be sixteen by now. He was a tiny shrimp, small and fragile. If Voldemort hadn't known, he would have said the boy was fourteen. Voldemort wondered if the boy's growth was stunted due to something.

Jeremiah wasn't watching the torture of the muggles. His face was blank probably bored, turned up to the stars. Voldemort saw a small messenger bag sitting beside Jeremiah that he had never seen before. He wondered what the boy had it for. But more interestingly, why wasn't the boy doing what he professed to enjoy?

"I thought you wanted to see people running and screaming in fear, Jeremiah."

The boy stood and stretched, picking up the bag. "It's more fun when I am controlling and making the fear and terror. Especially if that terror is in the eyes of one individual that can't take her eyes off of me for fear of me hurting her when her eyes are turned away."

Her? Why would Jeremiah use her? Voldemort was about to ask when Jeremiah pulled out his wand. Voldemort stared, the only time he had seen the wand was when Jeremiah was in class and performing a spell for a teacher.

Jeremiah sighed, "Now the fun can begin and end. Pity, it will be too quick for my taste."

"You're babbling, make some sense Jeremiah." Voldemort demanded.

"I told you at one point that 'you shouldn't trust me.' Well, it's too late."

Before Voldemort could react, Jeremiah waved his wand cancelling all the spells that the Death Eaters were casting on the muggles. Then each Death Eater were thrown violently against something like a tree, a large rock or the ground and stuck to it like they were magnetized to it. Jeremiah turned his wand onto Voldemort.

"To help you process the situation," Jeremiah said, "I'll give you a little commentary. The Ministry received an anonymous tip off earlier today from yours truly that there will be a bunch of muggle haters right here at about this time. So after the Ministry apparates in, I'll set up a spell that won't allow anyone to disapparate. I'll release the Death Eaters soon enough so it won't look like a setup but late enough to not be able to fight back. To sum it up. Your regime ends."

Voldemort said casually fingering his wand, "So you resurrected me to bring me down. What logic is there in that?"

Jeremiah smiled, "How else would I find your horcruxes?"

Voldmort suppressed his fury. The boy knew. One more thing he had to deal with. "But now you have to duel the greatest dualist of your day."

"Who? Dumbledore?"

"No! Me!"

"No, I don't."

"Oh, so you'll leave me to the ministry. They'll never going to be able to defeat me."

Then Voldemort felt his muscles seize up. Pain laced through him like a drug entering his veins. His wand slipped from his fingers and he fell to his knees.

Jeremiah slowly walked forward putting his wand away, "I told you my magic is potent. It exists in my body and no matter where it is, my magic, my body. Why would I offer you my flesh when I wouldn't let you posses me or when I wouldn't let you heal me. I like my body, I'm possessive of it. I let you build your body with my flesh because now I can control your body with nothing more than my mind."

Voldemort felt slight panic but forced it away as he tried to find a way around his folly. He gazed at the boy's face trying to force his way in with Legitimacy. But he was held back by the expression on that boy's face. A wide eyed delight. An expression that Voldemort himself had worn. An inhuman wild, supernatural happiness that didn't belong on a human's face.

Pain screamed from every portion of his body. Voldemort screamed in unison. Then he felt his body change, his body shrinking and becoming more slender. Before he could do anything, he was a long elegant snake. A magical bubble formed around him. The last thing he saw was Jeremiah picking up his fallen wand before the world descended into a dark, painful abyss.


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing that Lucius Malfoy became aware of was his wife's voice shouting commands. Then it was the sensation of a couch beneath him. Slowly, his mind cleared and he understood his wife.

"Draco go upstairs now, no more arguing. No, in fact, Dobby! Take him to his room this instant!"

"Yes master," came a squeak followed by a crack.

Lucius opened his eyes. His was in his manor. But where was the Ministry? How did he get here? His eyes fell on a still form curled on the flour. It was Raphael, but he was so still and the light in his eyes had gone out. His hand was gripped on the strap of a messenger bag. But beyond that, he looked dead.

"What happened?" Lucius croaked to his wife.

"Dobby just got back and he brought you and Jeremiah. He said that there ministry officials all over, what happened?" She replied quickly.

"The kid, he squealed. He must have wanted to get all the Death Eaters locked in Azkabam."

His wife said softly, "Then how did Dobby know to get you?"

Lucius looked long at Raphael. Then as if he knew he was being watched, Raphael blinked and stirred. The light returned to his eyes and he looked at Lucius and Narcissa but didn't move from his position on the floor.

"Lucius."

"You allowed me to leave and avoid Azkaban." Lucius said.

"No, I arranged for you to avoid Azkaban. I called Dobby." The boy corrected.

Lucius waited for a moment then asked, "What do you want from me?"

Raphael smiled faintly, "Good, you understand. I want you to know that I have an envelope filled with evidence that will ensure a one way ticket for both you and your wife under the crime of housing Death Eaters and Azkaban escapees in your manor for several months. This means that you will go to Azkaban and your son will be sent somewhere else to be raised, maybe even to a place where he might be abused and lacking of love that a child needs to grow right. He'll be taken care of by people who wouldn't care for his upbringing. He will be alone and in a sense . . . forgotten . . ."

Raphael's eyes shifted out of focus for a minute leaving the room silence and in a way empty. Then he continued, "I only have one demand. You be nice to your house elf."

"What?" Asked Lucius and Narcissa in unison.

Raphael pushed himself slowly and shakily into a sitting position, "Oh, I forgot. You Malfoys don't know the definition of the word nice, so I'll spell it out:

"You are to say please when you ask your house elf for something, you will say thank you when he gets it for you. You will not hit or physically hurt your house elf; you will not insult your house elf or call him names. You will not raise your voice at your house elf instead you will speak calmly and civilly to him. You will ask forgiveness of your house elf when you do wrong and give him forgiveness when he says he is sorry. You will not insult his work but you will complement him when he does well.

"Both of you as well as your son will do this. I will give you two weeks to adjust but after that, if you slip up, I will send that envelope to the ministry and it's over for your family. That is your choice, be nice or be separated in misery."

Lucius looked at his wife. She seemed as baffled and frustrated as he.

"But why?" Lucius blurted out.

"Why that?" Raphael pushed himself to his feet and replied, "A few reasons. One, I happened to be fond of house elves, I have more respect for them than I do most wizards. So when I see you people cruel to your house elf I felt sorry for the diligent little thing. And second," a smile stretched across his lips, "I find the idea of the proud Malfoys being nice and kind to a humble house elf very amusing."

Lucius felt his cheeks burn and his fury intensified. But the boy held the cards, Lucius had nothing but the charity given by that boy.

Raphael brushed his clothes off and said mechanically, "I don't think we will meet again - not face to face at least - so I bid you adieu and wish _the best_ for your future."

There was a crack and the boy was gone from the living room of Malfoy Manor.


	14. Chapter 14

Barty Crouch was a very busy man. He was always busy with a dozen or more things to do or handle someone else's botched jobs. Even when he was at home he had various paperwork he had to fill out. All part of doing an important job.

A light knock accompanied by a soft, "Master?" sounded at his office door.

He replied briskly, "Come in Winky."

His little house elf opened the door and squeaked, "There's someone here who has to see you. He says it can't wait."

"Send him in then."

Crouch usually did not like people seeing him at his home without an appointment, but for all he knew it could be something important. And dealing with the person now would be quicker than telling him to wait and come back later.

When Crouch heard the door open and shut, he asked without looking up, "Name and problem."

"Jeremiah Raphael, wanting you to get a court case reviewed."

The voice was much younger than Crouch had expected so he looked up and found a boy standing in front of him. A boy. A little boy not even in adolescence! Raphael did he say, that pureblood family was dead - wait - then a fact came to his mind. Jeremiah, student at Hogwarts who did not do his O.W.L.S. for his fifth year.

This boy should be sixteen now. He looked undersized and underweight and looked on the sick side with pale skin that had a yellow tint to it. His fingers were playing with the strap on a messenger bag.

"Why are you here?" Crouch insisted, "Where are your parents?"

Jeremiah rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as if wiping away sleep, "My parents died about eleven years ago at the time you sent a group of Death Eaters and your son to Azkaban."

Crouch tried not to wince when the boy brought that up. The guilt of that still hurt.

Jeremiah continued, "I am here to get you to get a certain case reviewed and I have all the evidence to make a new decision."

"Go home. You're underaged and have no right to be demanding such requests."

Jeremiah smiled, but it was pained smile, "Oh, you are going to do it for me. After all who else has more experience on the case of Sirius Black?"

Crouch snapped, "That man is an insane killer, overturning his sentence would be death to us all."

"He is innocent and I have all the proof you need. Since you waved his trial the first time around, perhaps you can make amends."

"Absolutely not, it would create a scandal in the Ministry."

Jeremiah cocked his head, "Oh, a scandal. I know something that will create a scandal. It has to do with a certain Department Head smuggling his son out of Azkaban and keeping him in his house under the Imperious Curse."

Crouch yanked out his wand and cried, "Obliviate!"

Jeremiah's hand snapped up and the spell bounced off of it and hit the wall leaving a burn. Then Crouch's wand tugged out of his hand and flew into Jeremiah's. Crouch's eyes widened. The boy closed his eyes and took a few shaky breaths. His face was wrinkled in strange pain.

After several more breaths, Jeremiah opened his eyes and commented, "Are we paying attention now? Good. Now if you want your secret to stay in this house you'll do exactly want I am about to tell you."


	15. Chapter 15

Dumbledore sat mildly in his office reading over the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. The front page story had a full account of Sirius Black's trial. It had all the little details of Crouch delivering evidence and bringing Petigrew into court. It also included the court's ruling: Petigrew was to take Black's place in Azkaban and Black would be given reparations for the unjust time he spent there as well as guardianship over Harry Potter. The reporter failed to disclose Crouch's source for the evidence. Possibly because he simply did not have enough information to put anything besides "an anonymous individual that provided Crouch the evidence."

Then there was a knock on Dumbledore's door. He didn't remember anyone scheduling to see him at this time. Nonetheless, he said pleasantly, "Enter."

And there he was, the star of the show, the "anonymous individual" Jeremiah. But he seemed even from across the room to be thinner than usual. He also seemed to be on the unwell side of life. Jeremiah walked forward and dropped into the chair across from Dumbledore's desk without any invitation.

"Ah, Jeremiah. It was Christmas since I last saw you. You missed your O.W.L.S. I'm afraid. The Ministry did not like that very much."

Jeremiah smiled, but Dumbledore knew that this smile was for show, to put others at ease. "There are just some things that need to be put aside 'for the greater good.' Now isn't that right, Professor?"

Dumbledore wondered if the boy had pulled that phrase from nowhere or if he were hinting at Dumbledore's own past.

"And what was this 'greater good' you are pursuing? And does it have to do with this?" Dumbledore asked gesturing to the paper.

Jeremiah glanced at the paper, "Black innocent, huh? Goes to show how much we truly know people."

"Jeremiah, please don't lie to me. I am not that foolish. I know you were the one to convince our friend Barty to reconsider Sirius's trial."

The boy stiffened and his eyes narrowed, "My name better not be in that article. If I wanted it public, I wouldn't have approached Crouch in the privacy of his home."

"No, I simply overheard Crouch telling Sirius is all."

Jeremiah nodded, "I don't want the credit for it, I can't do anything for the credit. It would ruin everything. So do me a favor and keep my name downgraded."

Dumbledore nodded, "Now I believe you aren't the sort of person to come and chat idly so why have you come?"

Jeremiah smiled, but this was a different smile than the other. This smile was more haunted. "I came here Professor, because I need a witness. I don't want publicity, I just need a single person to know that this is done and you are the most qualified. But I don't want you to question or comment until I say you can. Is that understood?"

"Completely, proceed."

Jeremiah rose from his seat and reached into his messenger bag. "I am Jeremiah Raphael and I present Tom Riddle's Diary, the first of Riddle's horcruxes."

The boy set a little black book on the far left side of Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore commented, "I'm impressed-"

Jeremiah glared at Dumbledore, "What did I say? No comments or questions until I say so. You are only a witness and witnesses see, they don't talk."

Dumbledore nodded and made a motion for Jeremiah to continue.

"I present, Marvolo Guant's ring, the next of the horcruxes."

Jeremiah set the ring down on the table next to the Diary.

"I present Salazar Slytherin's locket and Helga Huffpuff's cup, numbers three and four on the horcrux list." These items were placed on the table as well.

"I present Rowena Ravenclaw's lost Diadem, fifth of the horcuxes." He placed the diadem on the table as well.

"Happy accidental number six is the famous Mr. Harry James Potter, but since he could not join us here today I have this doll to represent him." An ugly doll with chopped hair and smeared lipstick looked like a lightning bolt on its forehead, was placed at the very edge of the table so all the horcruxes sat in a line in front of Dumbledore.

Jeremiah paused in his presentation a moment then he said, "But due to the incident on Harry's return home from Hogwarts, he is no longer a horcrux so this can be dismissed."

Jeremiah knocked the doll off the table and it landed in a waste bin next to Dumbledore's desk. Jeremiah rubbed his hands together.

"And now for the final of Tom Riddle's horcruxes, I present Lord Voldemort, transfigured into a snake to cause as little damage as possible."

Jeremiah pulled from his bag a snake in a magical sphere which hovered in the air over the desk. The snake was hissing furiously and striking at the barrier that kept him from the world. The hissing was so fast and angered that Dumbledore only could catch a word here or there, most of them being insults and curses.

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised and he was about to ask how exactly Jeremiah was able to accomplish this feat but then though better of it.

Jeremiah held up his hand and a ball of fire that danced like animals.

"Fiendfyre." He explained briefly.

Then Jeremiah set each horcrux on fire, one by one in order. The only one he saved a portion of was the stone in Marvolo's ring which he snatched up and set in front of Dumbledore. As the items reduced to ashes, Voldemort hissed all the louder, striking more furiously at his container.

Jeremiah silenced the fire, and then slowly drew his wand pointing it at Voldemort.

Dumbledore offered, "There is no need to damage your soul. I will do it."

A wry smile curled the boy's lips, "Oh, some believe my soul is darker and more damaged than his. But no, his body was made in part by my body, if this is not done right then I will be dead as him."

The boy took a breath then said, "Last words, Voldemort?"

"Fiend!" The snake hissed that might have been akin to a human cry, "You always planned to kill me!"

Dumbledore saw a few emotions flitter quickly over the boy's face. After a moment, the boy seemed to decide on something.

Jeremiah shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? A piece of me wants revenge. Ten years and seven months ago, you met me in Godric's hollow on Halloween. I told you 'nice costume mister,' but then I felt something wrong and ran away. I ran to my muggle mother who had no clue of the danger. Yes, my muggle mom. I've never said I was pureblood, I let you assume that. I have only told you I am from pureblood family. My father is pureblood and the line of Morgan Le Fay, my mom is a muggle. And on that night, we were the last to see you alive. Your Death Eaters didn't go to the Longbottom's first, they came to my house. Killed my wizard father and tortured my muggle mother. When they learned she didn't know anything, they killed her too, leaving me alone in a house with two corpses and only our family house elf to take care me. So this is out of revenge I suppose. I've put your Death Eaters, especially the ones hiding in plain sight, into Azkaban to be tortured and die like my mom and I'm going to kill you like my father. Reason enough for you?"

The reasoning might have been enough for the silently brooding Voldemort. But it wasn't for Dumbledore. The tone wasn't that of a kid out for revenge. He didn't seem to take delight in this, it was just another step for him to obtain a higher goal.

"Now, Voldemort, your flight is over. You have run as far and as fast as you can, but death has caught up to you. I'll say 'hi' when I cross you in the life afterward. But for now I say good bye. Avada Kedavra."

The jet of light shot from the wand passed through the protective barrier and hit the snake. The snake collapsed and was still, very much dead. Jeremiah released the magic and the snake fell onto the desk. The boy put his wand away, and sat down heavily as if tired.

"You can't put me into Azkaban for that. First you would have to prove that snake was originally a human. Then you have to get the Ministry to believe that Voldemort was actually alive. So I walk from this." Jeremiah reasoned.

Dumbledore nodded, "Very well. But I must say I-"

"Stop. If I wanted congratulation and praise, I would have done this at the Ministry. I won't accept congratulations."

"Then a question, if I may."

Jeremiah gave a slight gesture to continue.

Dumbledore asked carefully, "I do not believe that this was for revenge. I would like to have - what did you call it? - a different and perhaps a more true piece of the reason you have gone through all of this trouble."

Jeremiah pursed his lips and looked off to the side as if considering his answer.

"I guess I can tell you another piece of me, it's not like it matters."

But then there was a long pause before he continued.

"Where I left off was me being alone in my house with two corpses and a house elf. I don't know why, but no one ever came. My house elf and I buried the bodies in the back yard. She then tried to raise me. That poor thing did her best, but like any house elf she couldn't say no to my demands. This gave me a hard time later on in my first year coping with rules and teachers and students, like you are already aware. But that wasn't the reason. No one came. No one seemed to know or care if I were alive. In that house, I was alone. No one was there. No one provided me love or anything that I needed growing up. No one knew I was there, no one knew I existed. In a sense, I was utterly forgotten."

Jeremiah paused. It seemed like he was having trouble keeping his voice even and steady.

"I guess I became obsessed with that forgotten concept. I busted Black out because he was remembered and stowed away to be forgotten for the wrong thing. I amended that. Harry Potter is so well remembered that he needed to be partially forgotten so I took away his opportunity for more fame by finishing off Voldemort. Another reason I finished off Voldemort was because he could never be truly forgotten by Britain. Everyone still goes around saying You-know-who' or He-who-must-not-be-named.' I give them the ability to not need to remember him anymore. He is dead, and no amount of magic can raise the dead. He can now be forgotten."

Dumbledore examined the boy. Something in the even way the boy delivered his argument revealed to Dumbledore that the boy hid things that he still wasn't telling. Neither of his stories quite matched the facts, and both were bred from logic not emotion. There was still more, but Dumbledore knew that he would never hear it.

"Will you be returning to Hogwarts to do your O.W.L.S. and finish your education?" Dumbledore asked politely.

Jeremiah shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he stood, "this will probably the last time we meet. But I can't linger any longer. So I say farewell and good winds."

The boy turned and left Dumbledore's office leaving Dumbledore with a pile of ashes, the Resurrection Stone, a dead snake, an ugly doll and a worry for the boy that would never be spoken.


	16. Chapter 16

McGonagall strode down the hallway. She had some papers she wanted Dumbledore to look over. Then she saw a student in the hallway. Well, he was not standing, more leaning on a wall as if he were exhausted.

"What are you doing in the school during the summer?" She demanded.

The boy jerked and faced her, blinking. On a second look, McGonagall thought that the boy looked ill, dreadfully so.

The boy said faintly, "I have business in the castle."

"A-are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" McGonagall asked.

A small smile appeared on the boy's lips, "Oh, Professor, how kind, but what I have can't be fixed by anyone or any amount of magic. Thanks though it's nice to know someone at least pretends to care."

"Pretend? I might come off as-"

"It doesn't matter. You may or may not. I don't know, and I don't have time to figure out."

McGonagall heard the phrasing and inquired, "Are-are you dying?"

The boy laughed. It wasn't a hard laugh more like a chuckle. Then he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on. "No, I have a few more things to do before I can allow myself to die."

He turned and walked away from McGonagall without another word.

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I know that this is short, but I'll update soon.


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry that this chapter came later than I promised. School has just been hectic.

* * *

Snape worked prestigiously on correcting a textbook. He was adding his own corrections so he could brew the potions at their best. Then he heard the potion room door open then close. His head snapped up. It was that smart punk boy who had skipped the last part of his fifth year. What was name? Raphael?

Snape returned to his work snidely saying, "If you've come to apologize, then get out of my classroom. I have no time for troublemakers."

The boy chuckled softly, "Troublemaker? Professor Snape, I may have done many things that are troublesome but I am sure that you have committed crimes of equal or greater cruelty in your past as a Death Eater."

Snape looked up. Raphael was examining him with no expression on his face. Before Snape could deny his involvement as a Death Eater, the boy spoke again.

"Though in your past as a lover, you have always been pure."

Snape blinked. He was left without words or any denial that time. How did the boy know about that?

An almost involuntary smile crept onto the boy's face as if it gave him satisfaction to make someone lose control of the situation. But then the smile was gone.

"Professor, you don't have to worry about her anymore. She can rest in peace and she would want you to live your life without guilt."

Raphael placed a wand on Snape's desk. Snape picked it up. He recognized the wand. It was the Dark Lord's.

"Where did you get this?" Snape demanded.

The boy shook his head, "It doesn't matter, I'm out of time. Ask Dumbledore for details. But all you truly need to know is that she is avenged now. She is resting in peace, and you can live and move on."

Raphael turned away and opened the door.

"Wait."

Raphael did not even pause, he stepped out of the potions classroom and closed the door.

"I said, wait!" Snape disentangled himself from his chair and raced across the room. But when he pulled open the door, Raphael was not there.

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Only one more chapter after this one!


	18. Chapter 18

She examined the display cabinet making sure that every precious heirloom was as shiny and clean as it could possibly be. Constance wanted everything to be perfect for when her master came home. He rarely came home and stayed for a long period of time. But this time he said he would be staying for a long time. A house elf as loyal and as valiant as Constance could not let her master come home to a house that was less than perfect.

Then there was a faint knock on the door. It was so quiet that Constance nearly missed it. No one visited the old Raphael Manor, not since her master had placed the Fedelious charm on it, and he usually apperated in.

Nevertheless, Constance quickly opened the front door. On the front stair sat her master. He was a young master, only sixteen but small and fragile for his age. He was ordinary, as ordinary as boys could look with brown hair, light brown eyes and fair skin that was now tinted with a grey yellow color. And he sat on the doorstep with his back leaning on the doorframe as if he didn't have enough strength to stand. All of his appearance seemed to be that of a much younger fourteen year old boy who had not seen enough sun. But Constance's master was not ordinary, he had never been.

He smiled his smile that indicated that he was fond at the thing he was looking at.

Her master said, "Constance."

"Master."

His smile vanished to be replaced by a disappointed frown.

Constance glanced at the bitter weather. Cold drizzle and a brisk wind threatened her master's already failing health.

"Master, we've got to get you to your room and in bed. You need to recover, this weather is going to kill you."

He chuckled, "Oh, Constance. I'm dying already, my magic is killing me. That's its price, we've known that for a long time."

"But still master, you should rest-"

"No. I don't have time. Go get the puzzle."

"Master."

"Get the puzzle!" He screamed.

Constance apparated and scrambled to the farthest corner of the basement. From the bottom shelf, behind several other boxes, she pulled out a small wooden box. Constance apparated back to the doorstep. Her master was using the doorknocker to pull himself to his feet. Then he picked up a messenger bag that had left on the front step.

Constance knowing where he wanted to go suggested, "We don't have to go around to the back, master, we can cut through the house."

"And risk having you talk me out of this? Not a chance."

Then her master began walking through the dismal drizzle around the side of the manor. He stood tall and walked briskly as if he were leading a large important parade. Constance scurried behind him clutching the wooden box knowing if she dropped it, she would never be forgiven.

They arrived in the garden behind the manor. Her master passed the two patches of flowers that grew over the mounds of earth that marked the places where the old masters, her currant master's parents, were buried. But her master never lingered near those graves, even when he was little. Her master continued on, up a hill to where a different grave was.

He stopped at this grave. It looked like a mound of dirt that curved like an upside down dish. This mound had a single circular stone at the top of the rectangular dirt mound. Not a single blade grew on this mound. Her master always plucked every living thing on that grave. Constance was never allowed to do that, she was never allowed to be any closer than she now was, three feet. Her master on the other hand stood right up next to the bottom side of the mound. His eyes were fixed on the single circular stone.

"Hey, I'm back. It's been awhile, but you understand, right? I've been busy."

Constance did not say anything. He wasn't talking to her. Her master was talking to a girl been buried in the grave. It was his habit. Her master had continued to come here and talk to her. Constance at first tried to prevent this but her master would get angry and violent so Constance had learned to ignore him and walk away, but today she had been ordered to hold the puzzle.

"I'm sorry, Jacqueline. I'll be joining you soon in any case. Now, I seem to remember that we have unfinished business. You called me 'a heartless monster who couldn't do anything for anyone else unless you gained from it.' I didn't like that. I didn't like that at all and I told you to take it back. You just repeated it, 'heartless monster, heartless monster.' I hit you to try and get you to stop like I always did. But oh, Jacquey, you wouldn't stop and neither would I. Then you stopped moving and speaking. I can't remember anything being more still. . . But that's not important, what is important is that I am not the heartless monster you said I was. You can't know who I am. I can do good things without receiving praise and I will prove it."

Her master pulled out a newspaper from his bag and placed it on the mound like an offering.

"This is Sirius Black. He was an innocent man but had been thrown into Azkaban, that's a wizarding prison, but you wouldn't know about that, Jacquy. But I got him out and proved he was innocent. And nowhere in that newspaper will you find a mentioning of my name. Only a few people even knew I was involved and I received no praise from them."

Her master pulled out a small cut out newspaper article and placed it next to the newspaper.

"This is the report of the arrest of a lot of bad men and women that hurt others for fun, especially muggles like you Jacquy. They would torture you and kill you in the name of fun, I only hurt you when you weren't doing what you were told. So the world doesn't need to worry about them anymore. And again there is no mention of my name anywhere."

Her master placed another item on the ground. This was a family photo of a man, wife, son and a house elf.

"This is the Malfoy family, with a few threats and lies I was able to convince them to be kind to their house elf. I improved that house elf's life a lot. They used to treat him as bad as I treated you at some points. But I hope that once they get in the habit of being nice to a house elf, the Malfoys might learn to be nice to other individuals with enough time."

Her master pulled out another photograph and placed on the ground.

"This is Harry Potter. Because of what I did for him, Jacquy, he doesn't have to live with his cruel uncle and aunt now. He'll be living with Sirius Black, his godfather who will love him unlike his uncle and aunt. I know that they'll be happy now living a life of ease with no life threatening problems scheduled for the future."

Constance was beginning to seriously worry about her master's health. She needed to get him out of this weather. The drizzle hadn't stopped and it was getting colder. But one look at her master's face and she knew he could not be persuaded. He looked so alive and more animated than he had ever been.

Another picture was placed on the forming mud.

"This is Severus Snape, he had lost the woman he loved to murder long ago. I was able to avenge that murder, Jacqueline, and gave him the evidence. I told him the words he needed to hear, so he could be comforted and move on with his life."

Her master was grinning wildly a strange energized light danced madly in his eyes. He placed a handful of ashes down. All the items formed a large circle on top of the gravesite.

"And these are a few of the ashes of the Dark Lord Voldemort, or his horcruxes at any rate, but you wouldn't understand that. All you need to know is that he was not nice. He killed, he manipulated and did all sorts of cruel things to people. I did the world a whole lot of good by killing him. And you know what Jocquy? There was only one person who knows I did it, and I didn't receive any praise, Jacquy. So you see I can do good things without reward. I can be nice. I'm not that heartless monster that you said I am. Here's the evidence. I am good."

He paused a moment, eyes fixed on that singular circular stone. Then he commanded, "Constance, the puzzle."

Constance really knew she needed to get her master inside to prevent a chill, but she there was something she could do to prevent him from talking to Jacqueline. So she handed over the box, hoping that he would hurry and go inside.

He took the box and over turned it over dropping dozens of puzzle pieces onto the dirt. Quickly, he knelt before it and began to assemble the pieces.

"There is no way you can deny me this time, Jacquy. I win, I always have, always will. I am not a heartless monster. I am not what you say. You don't know me."

Constance didn't need to watch him assemble the puzzle to know what the image was. It was her master and Jacqueline on a park bench when they were seven. It was muggle photo Constance had taken in which her master smiled broadly at the camera while he held Jacqueline and forced her to face the camera as well. Constance could see the slight tear marks on Jacqueline's cheeks and the fear still in her eyes as the puzzle was assembled. But when the puzzle was completed and no other pieces could be found, there was still a piece missing. The piece would have fit over her master's chest.

"Jacqueline! Give me my heart! I've done more good than most people in this world. And not for any amount of praise and fame!"

He began punching the dirt, staining his clothes and splattering his face with the moist earth.

"You can't do this to me! I am the wizard! I am superior! I always win! That is how it is! You give my heart! I-I did a lot of good. You can't find fault in that."

He stood panting, staring angrily down at the singular circular stone. He was covered with mud now and frustration could be seen boiling under his skin.

"You can't judge me like that! I did everything and more! I have done a lot of good! What else do you demand?!"

He threw out his hands palm up in utter frustration, anger and bewilderment. Then by chance, the wind blew a dead leaf from the ground that landed on his hand. Her master held the leaf and looked at it. His face drained of anger, and he examined the leaf dispassionately. He twirled it between his fingers as a soft fond smile grew on his face.

"Oh, Jacquy." He chuckled. "My little Jacqueline. You are right. I didn't do good for good's sake. I did it . . . to prove you wrong. . . Nothing more than that. . . I-I guess I lose now. . . finally, you win."

Her master pressed the leaf to his cheek and closed his eyes.

"I always won in life. I could control you in life. I had my magic and my hands. But in a single phrase, a simple sentence, you have been able to control me from your grave. You know me and . . . you were right. You have the pieces of me that I can never see. Jacquy."

Her master collapsed. He fell on the gravesite so that his chest covered the puzzle and his head rested on the singular circular stone.

"Master! We need to get you inside. You're going to be ill!" Constance cried.

Her master didn't even twitch. "It doesn't matter Constance. Before the end of this hour I will see Jacqueline again. No doubt she will laugh at me like she always did, but I doubt I will be able stop her by hitting anymore."

Constance stared. What could she do? She knew him well enough to know that he would never rise for her.

Her master said, "Constance. I want you to leave. Go find a wizarding family that will be nice to you and love you like I never could. Just go and live a better life than I. Don't say anything that has happened at this place. Don't mention me. . . unless . . . unless someone asks you directly about me then, then you can tell them that I died in the same manner I lived: alone, heartless and . . . forgotten."

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Thank everyone who bothered to read this story! I really enjoyed writing it!

A special thanks to war sage, Theta-McBribe and Endless Hourglass for being so supportive and reviewing!


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